


It Happened One Christmas

by dogpoet



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Breaking and Entering, Christmas, Community: lewis_challenge, Fluff, M/M, Secret Santa, hathaway is a bad influence, santa suit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-29 01:59:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogpoet/pseuds/dogpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Lewis wears a Santa suit, Hathaway persuades him to engage in criminal activity, Lyn discovers something surprising in her cupboard, and baby Matthew has his first Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Happened One Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> > Beta by [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/simoneallen/profile)[**simoneallen**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/simoneallen/)

Hathaway was likely the only member of the Oxfordshire Police who didn’t mind being called to a murder scene on the morning of the 24th of December. Murder inquiries always meant they were sure to be working until late at night, and Lewis had had plans to drive to Manchester to see Lyn and her new baby boy that afternoon.

“Hell,” Lewis complained as they climbed the stairs to the third floor flat where the body had been found by the victim’s cleaning lady.

The dim light of the stairwell obscured Lewis’s features, but Hathaway knew them so well he had no need to see. He recalled with clarity Lewis’s fretful expression when told Hathaway had no holiday plans besides mass. Lewis hadn’t pressed, but Hathaway knew the conversation had stayed in his mind. Of late, they seemed well aware of one another’s thoughts at all times.

On the landing, Lewis said, “Don’t murderers go on holiday? Save us time and money if we sent them all to the Riviera.”

“Perhaps you should write to our MP.”

“See if I don’t!” Lewis smiled at him.

And they went inside the flat to confront the body.

*

By half two, they’d interviewed the cleaning lady, the victim’s mother and sister, who lived in Cowley, and her co-workers at the library. A quiet life by all accounts. The laptop was the next avenue of investigation. But Hathaway badly needed sustenance. He opened his mouth to mention this need to Lewis, who was navigating back to the station.

“Sir.”

Lewis glanced over at Hathaway. “You look about to faint.”

“I wouldn’t object to a pint and whatever food I can get with it.”

“Needs must.” Lewis rubbed wearily at his eye.

“We can’t think if we’re starving.”

“No,” Lewis agreed. “We’ll at least have to wait for the post mortem. The soonest Laura will have that is tonight. Of all the times.”

“There’s no reason both of us have to stay. I could hold down the fort while you drive up to see Lyn.”

“Leave you alone, working? At Christmas? What do you take me for?”

“A man who wants to see his grandson. Lyn needs you more than I do.”

Lewis made a face. “I don’t know about that.” He guided the car to the kerb. “Knowing you, you’ll stay up all night, burning through a whole packet of cigarettes.”

Hathaway watched Lewis turn off the engine and engage the brake, torn between wanting to hide his thoughts and let them show. In the last year, the former had become more difficult.

The expression on Lewis’s face was kind. “I wouldn’t let you do that.”

In his famished state, it took Hathaway a moment to realise what Lewis meant. “Thank you.”

“All right,” Lewis said, opening his door. “Food, James.”

*

Half the chips and curry sauce and two-thirds of the pint were inside Hathaway’s stomach before he was able to think clearly. “Sir,” he said, picking up another chip, and gesturing at Lewis with it, “why did Alice Dunmore have a cleaning lady when she lived in a flat all by herself? I’m assuming Miss Wilson didn’t do any cleaning before calling the police.”

“But the place was neat as a pin, wasn’t it?” Lewis said, catching on. “She didn’t really need help cleaning that flat.” Taking a bite of his sandwich, Lewis thought for a moment. “Past connection, maybe?”

“Took her on out of obligation of some kind,” Hathaway nodded.

Lewis perked up at the prospect of a fresh lead. “Let’s digest this lot, then go pay another visit to Miss Wilson. Maybe we can wrap up what we need to, and I can drive up to Manchester in the morning. Better late than never. I had big plans.”

“Did they involve a Santa suit?” Hathaway asked in jest.

“Don’t laugh. It’s Matthew’s first Christmas.”

“You’re joking!”

“What? No. I’m not. I’ve got me Santa suit and decorations for the tree and me mum’s plum duff recipe.”

Hathaway tried to contain himself. Over the years, he’d seen Lewis in googly-eyed glasses and in painfully outdated tracksuits, but a Santa suit surpassed those. Exponentially. Charmed, Hathaway resisted leaning over to kiss him.

“Matthew’s so colicky, Lyn and Stephen have been up till all hours. They’ve not even got the tree decorated. I was supposed to take care of everything for them.” Lewis ate more sandwich. “Best laid plans and all that.”

“Have faith, sir,” Hathaway said, recovering his composure.

“In our detecting skills? I do, Sergeant. Now, drink up.”

*

Catching murderers, even the less clever ones, was not a quick business. It took time to interview the cleaning lady again, and more time to interview the cleaning lady’s mother-in-law, who was an old acquaintance of the victim’s father, but eventually it was all sorted, and a DNA sample had been sent to the lab for comparison with skin cells found on the rope used to strangle the victim. The urgent work was completed, and the rest could be finished later.

It was just past midnight, the first few minutes of Christmas Day.

Lewis stopped on the steps of the police station and stared out at the car park. Beside him, Hathaway pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, and then went through the business of lighting up.

“I’m getting too old for this,” Lewis said.

He didn’t seem old to Hathaway. Tired, sometimes. Dispirited, sometimes. But not old. Not too old to set Hathaway’s heart racing a bit every time they stood near. Lewis’s hands were always warm. Hathaway knew this from the few times Lewis had touched him over the years, pressing a palm to his forehead when he came to work ill, grabbing his hand to hold him back from traffic or harm, and more recently, odd touches here and there, fingers brushing against his when they were handing off files, right hand weaving with his to guide the mouse when they were looking at something on the computer. Lewis shoved said hands into his pockets, then caught Hathaway staring. Hathaway averted his gaze, focussing on the pull of nicotine.

“I suppose I should get some rest. Always find it hard to sleep the day of a new case.”

“Adrenaline, do you think?”

“Must be.”

They continued to stand on the steps. For all his eagerness to get to Manchester, Lewis seemed reluctant to leave the station. Hathaway stared up at the sky, half expecting to see reindeer. It was a beautiful night, clear and starry, even with the light from the city. He felt blessed to spend five minutes of Christmas Day with Lewis.

“Mass, then? What time does that start?”

“Ten.”

“Ah.”

“And you? What time will you drive to Lyn’s?”

“If I’m to get it done by the time they wake, I’d have to leave now, wouldn’t I?” Lewis brought his left hand out of his pocket to check his watch. “Crikey.”

“Why don’t you? Leave now.”

“Nah. It’s three hours up there. I’d never get it all done in time. Or if I did, I’d be dead on me feet by morning!”

“I could go with you. We could pick up some coffee, drive over, break into Lyn’s house, set everything up in half the time.”

Lewis laughed. “Come down the chimney?”

“Isn’t that what Santa does? I’ll be your helper. Your _elf_.”

“You’re too tall to be an elf.”

“Think how happy your Lyn will be when she wakes up to find you in your Santa suit,” Hathaway paused to suppress his laughter, “and the tree all decorated.”

“And gifts. I’ve got loads. I forgot yours on the table again.”

Hathaway had given Lewis his the day before. A gardening book to encourage him to put himself back on the allotment list.

“No time like the present,” Hathaway said.

Lewis acknowledged the pun with a grimace. “All right, you win.”

Hathaway shot a triumphant puff of smoke into the night air.

“You’re a bad influence, you know. From day one.”

“Bad influence? How?”

“Remember the mattress and the skip? And that’s not the only time.”

“I make your life more exciting. Drop me at mine first? I’d like to change.”

“Into your elf costume, I hope.” Lewis tilted his head towards his car, and began walking.

Hathaway fell into step beside him. More than five minutes, then. Possibly a few hours. That sounded like a lovely Christmas.

*

Thirty-seven minutes later, Hathaway had showered, dressed, and driven to Lewis’s flat. Lewis had a freshly-scrubbed look to him when he opened the door, and he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Hathaway rarely saw Lewis that way, and he paused to savour the moment.

“Well, come on. It’s cold.” Lewis placed a hand at the small of Hathaway’s back and guided him inside.

“I brought this,” Hathaway said, holding up a large duffel bag.

“Want to pack up those presents on the table? I’ve got coffee on.”

Hathaway stepped over to the table and got busy. Among the gifts was the one for him. “Should I open my present now?”

“What? No. You’ll open it at Lyn’s.” Lewis brought Hathaway a cup of coffee.

“Sir?”

“Well I’m not driving you back here before we open presents!”

Hathaway felt a prickling along his neck as blood rushed to his face. He was certain he was bright pink. “I thought — we’d take separate cars, and I could drive back after…”

“Don’t be daft. We’re driving up together, and you’re staying. If it’s all right with you, missing mass and all that.” He paused, looking away. “I thought about asking you before, but I didn’t know if… ah, I don’t know.” Unable to say what was on his mind, he touched Hathaway’s elbow. “I just didn’t know.”

“Christmas with Lyn sounds lovely, sir.” Hathaway stood up straighter, placed the gift in the duffel, and said, all business, “Torches.”

Lewis smiled, suddenly at ease. “Good thinking. I knew there was a reason I kept you around.”

“Are you going to put on the Santa suit?” Hathaway asked, hopeful.

“Too hot. And itchy. There’s no way I’m driving for three hours in it!”

Mildly disappointed that he’d have to wait for Santa, Hathaway watched Lewis retreat in search of torches.

*

When they’d packed all the gifts, the Santa costume, the decorations, and the ingredients for plum duff into the boot of the car, Lewis said, “I can take first shift if you want to sleep.”

“I just had coffee.”

Lewis held up a travel mug. “Haven’t had mine yet. I’ll sleep. You drive.” He tossed Hathaway the keys.

They got in on their respective sides. Hathaway started the car and began to navigate towards the A34. Lewis wedged his coffee cup into the drink holder, grabbed a pillow from the back seat, and settled in to nap, leaning against the window.

“Do you always keep a pillow handy for naps?”

“It’s for me Santa suit,” Lewis said, yawning and patting his belly. “Extra.”

Hathaway smiled, ignoring the road for a few seconds to look over at Lewis, whose face was lit by street lamps. He was handsome, even now, when he was tired and trying to nap in the car. The prospect of Lewis retiring and moving north made Hathaway’s throat tighten up. There was no getting around the fact that he was more than fond of Lewis, had been for some time, and couldn’t make the feeling go away. He had no idea what to do about it.

Before they were even on the M40, Lewis had fallen asleep. He snored softly. Hathaway turned down the radio so as not to disturb him. He checked that the doors were locked, and that Lewis had his seat belt on. He’d driven Lewis on the first day they’d met, too. He had no idea what they’d talked about. Maybe Lewis’s years in the Virgin Islands. He recalled that Lewis hadn’t been excessively chatty. It had taken some time before they were comfortable with one another. Now their silences were less awkwardness and more due to knowing what the other was thinking, or at least knowing the other _needed_ to think.

Given his ability to read Hathaway’s mind, it was entirely possible that Lewis had caught on to Hathaway’s feelings. But if he had, it didn’t seem to bother him. Maybe age did that to you. Maybe he thought it was something Hathaway would get past, and he was simply waiting it out. Getting past it had been the idea behind pushing Lewis to date Laura. If he was going to be with someone else, Hathaway would have preferred it be her. They’d gone out a few times, but then Lewis had mysteriously ceased seeing her, and when Hathaway had asked, he’d said, “That’s none of your business.” And that was that.

Hathaway was so lost in thought, he missed the halfway mark by miles. Lewis was sleeping soundly, and Hathaway decided to let him rest as much as possible. When they reached the A56, Hathaway said, “Sir?”

“Mm.”

“We’re almost there.”

“What?” Lewis sat up, letting the pillow drop. He rubbed his face.

“We just got on the A56, but I don’t know where Lyn lives.”

“You were supposed to wake me.”

Hathaway glanced to his left. Lewis was yawning. Hathaway liked seeing him sleepy and sleeping. It made him think of lying in bed with Lewis, waking up. Kissing him. Warm. He put the image out of his mind and tried to concentrate on the road.

“You’re a bit wily, aren’t you? You did that on purpose.”

He hadn’t, really, but he liked that Lewis thought he had.

“Do you suppose my coffee’s still warm?” He reached for it.

Hathaway stretched his shoulders and back, turned his head to crack his neck. Lewis noticed.

“Want me to drive the rest? It would do you good to stop for a minute.”

“We’re nearly there.”

“I know,” Lewis acknowledged, but in a way that conveyed he didn’t really agree.

Hathaway smiled. “I’ll turn off up here.”

*

At the kerb beside Lyn’s house, Hathaway opened the boot to gather the contents. Beside him, Lewis distractedly searched his pockets.

“Blimey, I think I forgot the key. I knew I should have kept it on the ring with the rest.”

“You have a key?”

“Of course I have a key. What did you think?”

“I thought we were going to be housebreaking tonight, sir,” Hathaway said in his best sergeant’s voice.

“You want me to break into me own daughter’s house?”

“We could try the chimney, but I doubt either of us would fit.”

“Don’t be smart. I _have_ forgotten the key. Dammit to hell.” Lewis looked defeated. “It’s four in the morning. I’m not waking her now. She barely sleeps as it is.”

Hathaway surveyed the house. It was a modern terrace with a small set of front steps and no front garden. There was a narrow walkway between it and the next house. Barring access to the walkway was a wooden garden gate abutting the pavement, rather like a door, tall and imposing. Hathaway went to investigate, trying the knob. It was locked. He was tall enough to see over the top, but only just.

He returned to Lewis. “I say we scramble over the garden gate, go round to the back, find an unlocked window, climb through, and we’re in.” Hathaway clapped his hands together for emphasis.

“And have the neighbours call the police?”

“You could put on your Santa suit.”

“Yeah, that’s sure to attract less notice.”

They smiled at one another.

“I’ll climb over if you give me a boost.”

Lewis studied the gate. “All right,” he said, “but be quiet about it, will you? I hope there are no dogs about.”

They closed the boot and carried the bags of things to the pavement next to the house. Setting down the bag he was carrying, Hathaway looked at Lewis expectantly.

With a long-suffering sigh, Lewis put his bag down, clasped his hands, and braced himself for Hathaway’s weight.

“You love it, sir,” Hathaway said, stepping up, grabbing the top of the gate, and hoisting himself up. The wood dug into his belly, but only for a moment. He managed to get a leg over, then the other leg. He jumped down to the pavement on the other side of the door. Blindly, he sought the latch to let Lewis in.

Lewis looked behind him warily, scanning the street as they gathered up the bags and brought them in.

“We’re lucky she doesn’t live in the centre one. I’d like to see you scramble over the hedge.”

“Anything for you,” Hathaway said as they went round to the back of the house.

“What if the window isn’t open?”

“We’ve had unseasonably warm weather before today. She may have had it open recently. If not, I could try my hand at picking locks.” Hathaway went to the window, pressed his palms against the glass, and lifted.

Miraculously, the window opened. Hathaway looked over his shoulder and grinned.

“I’m going to have a little chat with her about home security. That’s the kitchen. You’ll probably end up in the sink.”

“Where are the torches,” Hathaway whispered.

Lewis rummaged in one of the bags, then handed a light to Hathaway. With a slight boost, Hathaway was up on the sill. Due to the small size of the window, there was less room to manoeuvre than there had been outside, and he couldn’t swing his leg up. Clearly, he hadn’t been rowing enough. His arms failed him. “Sir!” he whispered to the air behind him.

Lewis wrapped his arms round Hathaway’s legs and lifted. There was a clatter as Hathaway knocked something over, but his body hit a tipping point, and he lifted himself farther into the house, then slowly, painfully, worked his way in, turning round so his rear landed in the sink. He brought his legs in awkwardly, then hopped down to the floor, filled with admiration for burglars. He listened for any disturbance upstairs before he shut the window, turned on the torch, and made his way out of the kitchen to let Lewis in at the back door.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Lewis said, handing Hathaway the duffel bag full of gifts. Turning on his torch, he led the way to the living room, where a bare tree stood in the corner. Boxes of lights lay in disarray on the floor. “It’s a good thing we came! I hate to think of her scrambling to get it done when she gets up.”

“Shall we do the lights first?” Hathaway set his torch on end in the middle of the floor so that it shone towards the ceiling, making a dim circle of light.

“Well, I can’t start the plum duff without waking everyone. It’ll have to wait.”

“I didn’t know you cooked.” Hathaway crouched to remove his shoes.

“I don’t. But someone has to make it. Do you have some culinary talent I don’t know about?”

“You know everything about me, sir.”

“Hardly. You like being mysterious.”

“I assure you I can’t make plum duff. Does it have flour in it? And plums?”

Lewis laughed softly. “All right. Start at the top? You’d best do that. I think this is the right end. Yeah.” He handed Hathaway the end of a string of lights, then sat to take his own shoes off.

In socked feet, they worked quietly and efficiently with Lewis untangling the string and directing his torch towards the branches to illuminate where Hathaway was weaving the lights. Hathaway hadn’t had a Christmas tree since he was a teenager, not unless you counted the church tree. It was nice, working like this. He began to feel some Christmas spirit, looking forward to the day ahead. There was something magical about working in the dark with someone you liked. Each time their fingers bumped into each other by accident, Hathaway felt a tingle rush up his arm. He tried to touch Lewis on purpose, brushing up against him: their hands, their arms. He succeeded so often, he began to wonder if Lewis was a co-conspirator. They smiled at one another in the shadows.

When they’d finished, Lewis found the socket and plugged the lights in. The tree lit up.

“Gifts next, I think,” Lewis said, looking pleased with himself.

“Oughtn’t you to put on your Santa suit first?”

“You just want me to put it on so you can poke fun at me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. But it’s nearly five. She could come down at any moment.”

Lewis rolled his eyes. “You get busy with those decorations. I’ll put on the bloody suit.”

Hathaway bent to his task, removing a small box from the duffel bag and opening it to reveal a collection of decorations wrapped in tissue. Some were glass, but most seemed to have been made by Lyn and Mark when they were children. A ceramic handprint, a cardboard Santa. Hathaway hung them carefully in the branches of the tree, glancing over surreptitiously as Lewis removed first his jumper and then his jeans. It wasn’t the first time Hathaway had seen Lewis in a state of undress. From the early days, he’d spent a good deal of time at Lewis’s flat, helping him do up his bow tie for some concert or another with Innocent, or waiting for him to dress in the morning when he stopped by to pick Lewis up on the way to a crime scene. Lewis hadn’t seemed to mind Hathaway’s presence. Was that unusual? Hathaway had certainly never gone to DI Knox’s flat for any reason.

Hathaway let his eyes linger on Lewis’s legs. Down to his boxers and vest, Lewis stepped into the Santa trousers, and then donned the furry jacket. Lastly, he tucked the pillow underneath everything and fastened the belt. He looked…ridiculous.

“I can hear you laughing inside.”

“I’m not. You make a very handsome Santa.”

“Just don’t call me ‘Santa, sir’, and you’ll live to see Boxing Day.”

“Are these all the decorations, Santa, sir?”

Before Lewis could reply, the sound of a baby crying broke the quiet. Both of them looked up at the ceiling, as if they could see through it to the rooms above.

“Crikey,” Lewis whispered. “She might come downstairs, and we’re not done.”

Thinking quickly, Hathaway unplugged the lights and grabbed his torch. “We could hide.”

“Hide? What for?”

“If she comes down, she might not notice the tree, but she’d certainly notice us.”

For a moment, Lewis seemed undecided, then he said, “The cupboard. Come on.”

Hathaway followed Lewis to the hallway near the front stairs. It was a lucky thing they’d removed their shoes. They hardly made a sound. Lewis opened the cupboard door. It emitted a slight creak, but Lewis ignored it. He stepped inside the cupboard, pulling Hathaway in after him. Hathaway butted up against coats, stepped on shoes, and pulled the door to.

It was a very small space, especially for two full-grown men, one of whom had a much larger girth than usual.

Lewis turned off his torch and tucked it away somewhere. “Morse never got me into messes like this.”

“I only suggest courses of action. You’re a willing accomplice.”

“Shut off your light,” Lewis whispered, his hands coming up to do it himself.

Their fingers fumbled against one another. The light went off.

“I’ve got a pocket.” Lewis took the torch from Hathaway’s hands.

They stood there in silence, face to face, in the dark, hardly breathing. Upstairs, the sound of bawling continued. Someone’s footsteps made the wooden floorboards creak.

Hathaway shifted uncomfortably. Shoes of some kind were digging into the soles of his feet. There was a _thunk_ as he displaced a shoe and found a patch of floor for his foot.

“Hush.”

Leaning close, Hathaway said, “We’d have more room in here if you hadn’t suddenly put on weight.” To demonstrate his meaning, he gave Lewis’s pillowy middle a squeeze.

Lewis groped for Hathaway’s hand and took it in his. Hathaway stilled, half thrilled, half terrified.

“I’m not blind. A bit slow to catch on, maybe, but I get there eventually.”

They had reached a point in their working relationship where Lewis had only to say a word, and Hathaway was able to finish his sentence, but it seemed impossible that Lewis could mean what Hathaway thought he meant.

“Sir?”

“It’s not something I ever thought about, really. Laura put the idea in me head. She was only joking, I suppose, but they say there’s always some truth in a joke.”

Hathaway’s heart was pounding with such ferocity that he could hardly stand up. “What did she say?” he managed.

“She said you sometimes acted like you were in love with me.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Hathaway tried to turn away, but there was no room to move. “I didn’t mean to make you feel awkward.” It was more than awkward. Uncomfortable? But Lewis had never seemed so, and he wasn’t one for pretence.

“It’s been going on a lot longer than I’ve known about it, hasn’t it?”

“I expect so.”

“I’ve been thinking about if I could,” Lewis said.

“You don’t have to do anything.” It filled him with panic to think of Lewis parting ways with him for any reason. Hathaway would have followed him to the ends of the earth.

“I know.” He tilted his head up and kissed Hathaway, just the lightest press of lips.

For an instant, Hathaway had no clue what to do, but then his instincts took over, and he kissed Lewis back. Kissed him a second time, still chaste. Their breathing sounded loud in the darkness.

“I’m not a fragile flower,” Lewis said.

It was too dark to see Lewis’s exasperated expression, but Hathaway could imagine it perfectly. He brought his hands up to cup Lewis’s face. Their noses bumped clumsily, then their mouths met, and Hathaway kissed him for real, sucking on Lewis’s lower lip, touching their tongues together. In his exploration of Lewis’s mouth — the feel of his teeth, the taste of him, coffee and him — Hathaway lost all sense of time. Lewis was pulling him closer. The pillow in the Santa suit was in the way, but Hathaway didn’t have experience unfastening Santa suits — Where did you even start? — and he had to be content with the limited contact between them, hands and mouths and more hands. He bowed his head further to kiss the soft skin of Lewis’s neck.

Breathless, Lewis said, “Bloody hell. And I thought I might not like it.”

Hathaway huffed against Lewis’s shoulder, grateful, afraid to move lest he find out it was a dream. In the stillness, he heard the baby’s continuing wails and the rhythmic footsteps belonging to Lyn or Stephen.

“Could be a while before he goes to sleep,” Lewis said. “Maybe we should get out and keep working. She’ll come down when she hears us.”

“I don’t want to leave the cupboard.”

“Me, neither, but we could be here for hours.” He ran his fingers through Hathaway’s short hair.

Hathaway was about to kiss him again when there was a loud knocking on the front door. The footsteps above paused, but the crying continued. Lyn’s voice called out, talking to Stephen. Then two sets of feet came noisily down the stairs.

“Manchester Police!” came from outside the front door, along with a fresh round of knocking.

“Blimey,” Lewis cursed softly.

“Hi,” Stephen’s voice said. “What’s going on?”

The baby continued crying, and Hathaway could hear Lyn murmuring comfort to him.

“Your neighbour reported seeing someone climbing into the back garden. Have you heard anything?”

“No, and we wake pretty easily these days,” Stephen said.

“Mind if we check out back?”

“Not at all. Come through this way. You can go out the back door.”

Loud boots walked by. Hathaway held his breath, and he could sense Lewis doing the same. They were pressed together, still. The house fell silent.

“If Manchester Police catch me in here in a Santa suit — with you, no less — I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I could sneak out and pretend to be a burglar,” Hathaway whispered in Lewis’s ear.

“Don’t you dare.”

Several tense minutes later, the boots came by again.

“Best lock your doors and windows. If you see anything, you could give us a call.”

“Thank you,” Lyn said over the baby’s squalls.

“Goodnight,” Stephen said. “Happy Christmas.”

The front door shut. There was an odd quiet. The baby cried in soft fits and starts. Feet mounted the stairs, creaking on certain steps. The crying grew more distant. The hallway light had been left on, and it came in through the gap under the cupboard door. Lewis and Hathaway waited. The house settled.

“I think we’re safe,” Hathaway finally breathed.

“Let’s wait a bit longer before going back out.”

Hathaway pressed a kiss to Lewis’s neck. Then his mouth, which opened without prompting, letting him in.

“This thing is hot even when I’m not stuffed in a cupboard with you.”

“You could take it off,” Hathaway said, hardly believing the words had come out of his mouth. His heart raced with possibility.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Lewis answered good-naturedly, biting Hathaway’s lip.

At that moment, the door to the cupboard opened. Hathaway’s instinctive reaction, born of long hours working alongside Lewis, was to step in front of him. Lewis, apparently, had the same instinct, which resulted in a jumble of feet and legs and both of them stumbling out of the cupboard.

All of this happened in an instant, and the sharp sound of Lyn’s startled shriek filled the house. She stood, hands over her mouth, eyes wide, a few feet from the cupboard. “Holy shit!”

“Lyn?” Stephen appeared at the top of the stairs, baby in his arms.

She looked up at him. “It’s all right, love. It’s my dad. And James. I was just startled, that’s all.”

“Robbie,” Stephen acknowledged. “And…James, is it?”

Hathaway nodded. “I’m his…” He had no idea how to finish the sentence. None of the words that came to mind seemed appropriate, not even ‘Sergeant’.

Stephen began descending the stairs.

“We’re fine,” Lyn said, holding up a hand to stop him. “I’ll be a few minutes?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Stephen agreed, giving Lewis and Hathaway an odd look before heading back up the stairs.

When Stephen had gone, Lewis said, “I’m sorry, pet. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I knew it was you in there, but I wasn’t expecting… Shit.” She covered her mouth with her hand again, her eyes filling with tears. “Sorry. A bit of a shock is all.”

Lewis sighed, his face pained. “James, could you…?”

“Yes, sir,” Hathaway said immediately, hurrying to the living room to find his coat and shoes. He put them on haphazardly, then stepped quickly out of the front door, shutting it firmly behind him. He didn’t pause to look back at either Lewis or Lyn. He didn’t want to know.

It was cold outside, and Hathaway wasn’t warmed by the excitement of housebreaking or the pleasure of Lewis’s company. He shivered, longing for his scarf, and maybe even a hat. Without thinking, he fumbled in his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. The feel of the filter in his mouth calmed him. The first puff even more so. He sat on the top step. The brick was cold, and it made his arse ache. He inhaled the nicotine with a vengeance.

What was Lewis telling her? Hathaway pressed his ear to the door experimentally, but he could only hear a faint murmur of conversation. There were two possibilities: Lewis could tell her the truth, or he could lie. Among the lies were: _You were seeing things; Hathaway fell on me_ or _Hathaway thinks he’s in love with me, and he tried it on without my permission_ or _We were just messing about_. Maybe there were more, but Hathaway couldn’t think of them.

Lewis hated lying. Hathaway knew this for a fact. The evidence in support of the truth was fairly incontrovertible, but there was no telling what Lewis might do in a situation like this. Hathaway didn’t like to think of him having to deal with the consequences of telling his daughter that he’d recently — very recently — taken up with his sergeant. No matter how open-minded Lyn was, it wouldn’t be easy to accept. Maybe, like many other things, it was best forgotten and never spoken of again.

Hathaway probably should have taken the blame. It wasn’t too late to do so. He stood and was about to toss his cigarette onto the pavement when he remembered how much Lewis hated that. He stubbed the cigarette out, hung onto the butt, and reached for the door knob with the other hand.

It was locked.

Of course it was. Knocking to be let in was too much. Hathaway sat back down, put the cigarette butt in his pocket, crossed his arms over his knees, and laid his head down. He tried not to think, but sense memory bombarded him. The feel of Lewis’s arms around him, his pillow-padded belly, how he smelled up close, the way his mouth opened so easily, as if he’d been waiting years for Hathaway to unlock him.

Irony.

By the time the door opened, Hathaway was shivering with more than cold.

“James?”

There was no use delaying. He stood up.

“Blimey, you’re freezing,” Lewis said, pulling him inside. “Look at you.” He took Hathaway’s face in his hands and kissed him, kissed his mouth and his cheeks and his nose.

He’d told the truth, then. For the third or fourth time that night, Hathaway was flooded with gratitude and affection. Lyn was nowhere to be seen.

Lewis must have sensed Hathaway’s worry because he said, “She’s getting Matthew. She’s fine. I expect I’ll have to chat with her later, but she’s fine.” He took one of Hathaway’s ears between his thumb and forefinger and rubbed, warming it.

Hathaway sniffled from the cold and followed Lewis into the living room. Stephen and Lyn appeared a moment later, Lyn with Matthew in her arms. Lewis plugged the tree lights back in while Hathaway stood there uncertainly.

“Should I put the kettle on?” Lyn asked, worried. “You look like a block of ice.”

“Don’t do a thing,” Lewis said. “I’ll get it.”

“No. Here, you take Matthew.” She stood up and handed the bundle of tears to Lewis.

“All right,” Lewis agreed, sitting on the sofa. “Come on,” he said, tilting his head to tell Hathaway to join him.

Hathaway folded his body into the sofa beside Lewis, who was still wearing his Santa suit. He looked quite at home with a baby in his arms.

“Lyn was colicky, too,” Lewis said to Stephen, who’d collapsed in the armchair.

“The doctor says he’ll be over it soon, thank God. We haven’t had a night’s sleep since he was born. I’m a zombie.”

“Ah, but he’s a sweet lamb. Look at you!” Lewis cooed.

Matthew hiccoughed softly, quieting.

“There we go.”

“So, you’re…” Stephen said, looking at Hathaway. “You work together? Is that right?”

Hathaway glanced at Lewis for help.

“Nearly six years, now, isn’t it?”

Feeling awkward, Hathaway said, “I should make myself useful.” He got up. “I could finish the tree.”

“We forgot all about that in the excitement,” Lewis said.

“There are more decorations. I’ll get them.” Stephen seemed grateful for the distraction. He stood up and vanished from the room.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Hathaway said softly, looking down at Lewis.

“Nah,” Lewis said. “Don’t be.” He pressed his socked foot to Hathaway’s shoed one. “Me mum always said waiting for something was the agony. Get it over and done.”

Hathaway stepped back, toed off his shoes, touched Lewis’s foot with his, then set to work putting the gifts under the tree.

Lyn appeared a few minutes later, carrying a tray with a pot of tea and cups. “It’s herbal. I know you hate that, dad, but caffeine is the last thing we need.”

“No, you’re right,” Lewis said. “He’s settling down. You should, too. Get some sleep.”

“After all this, I might not be able to!” She smiled at Hathaway. “It’s not every day you wake up to find Santa in your cupboard! That suit, dad, it’s…” She searched for the appropriate word.

“James made me put it on.”

Hathaway opened his mouth to protest, but he couldn’t exactly deny the accusation. Lyn raised her eyebrows at him.

“He bought it!” Hathaway said. “I had nothing to do with that.”

Stephen returned with a green box. “Baubles,” he announced.

Hathaway hovered over the box with him, picking things out. Together, they began decorating the tree.

Lyn curled up on the sofa with her cup of tea. “It hasn’t felt this much like Christmas in years.”

“It’s the little ones who make it Christmas. It wasn’t the same after you and Mark flew the coop.”

“It’s too bad he’s not here,” Lyn said. “But five of us, that’s a good number. A full house. And thank God you two arrived. What if we’d failed Matthew on his first Christmas Day?”

“James cracked the case, and then he talked me into driving up tonight.”

Hathaway caught Lyn scrutinising him. “Now that I think about it, it makes sense,” she said.

“What?” Lewis asked.

“He talks about you all the time,” she said to Hathaway.

“I shudder to think.”

Lyn laughed. “Only good things. You’re always having dinner with him and playing squash with him. You brought him soup when he was sick.”

“I needed to discuss a case with him. It seemed like the right thing to do,” Hathaway said, downplaying his catering service.

“I don’t like him being alone. It’s good you’re with him.” She leaned into her father’s shoulder.

“He takes good care of me,” Lewis said.

“By almost getting you in trouble with the police.”

Lewis smiled at him.

“Oh my God, I’ll never forget that! It was lucky I saw the lights on the tree, otherwise, I might have panicked. But it would be a funny burglar who decorated your tree for you. But why did you come in through the back?”

“I forgot me key! I don’t like carrying it around, so I keep it in the kitchen drawer. Then this one here had the bright idea to break in. Why don’t you lock your windows?”

“I thought I did.”

“It’s lucky we weren’t real burglars!”

“In many respects,” Hathaway chimed in.

“Did you come in the kitchen window? How did you fit?”

“Painfully.”

Lyn laughed again. “I wish I could’ve seen it.”

“When we buy a house, we’ll have to get a dog to alert us when Santa breaks in,” Stephen said.

“Yeah!” Lyn exclaimed. “And I want a big garden for the dog.”

“She’s got such a long list of things she wants in the house, we’ll never buy one.”

“I’ll know the right one when I see it,” Lyn said. That seemed to be a joke between them because Stephen stepped away from the tree to give her a kiss.

“Shall I take him up?” Lewis asked.

“Aw, look at him. He just needed grandpa. I’ll get him. We’d best go to sleep, anyway. Stevie’s about to drop.”

“Indeed,” Stephen agreed.

“Goodnight, Dad.” Lyn kissed Lewis’s cheek. “Oh, shit, I forgot about your bed! You could sleep upstairs, but the spare bed’s in Matthew’s room. You might be better off down here. Do you mind? A bit uncomfortable, this thing. Noise or bad springs, your choice.”

Lewis glanced at Hathaway. “We’ll make up the sofa bed. You go on. And you’d better stop swearing before Matthew picks it up!”

“God. Get me past the colic, and I’ll stop.” Gently, Lyn took Matthew from Lewis’s arms.

Everyone said their goodnights, and Lyn and Stephen went upstairs. Lewis watched them go.

It suddenly occurred to Hathaway that they were expected to share a bed. “Sir? The bed.”

“Oh, right. I’ll get the linens. You can help me make it up if the tree’s done.”

Hathaway stood there, stupefied. Twenty-four hours ago, his life had been entirely different. He’d been about to spend Christmas alone. He’d been shaving and getting dressed to go to a crime scene. He’d been in love with someone he thought would never feel the same way. He expected to wake up at any moment and discover it was a dream.

Lewis returned with sheets and blankets. “We’ll need to get that coffee table out of the way.” He set the linens down, and began removing the sofa cushions.

Hathaway moved the table, and helped Lewis unfold the mattress from inside the sofa. Soon the bed was made up. “Do you need the Wall of Jericho, sir? I could lay pillows down the centre of the bed.”

Lewis smiled. “To prevent me grabbing you?”

“To prevent _me_ grabbing _you_.”

“I’ll be fine, but we’re in me daughter’s house, mind. Don’t get _too_ grabby.” He began unfastening the top of the Santa suit. “I’ll be pleased as punch to get out of this thing.”

“Let me help.” Hathaway came close and pulled the pillow out from under the Santa belt. Happy to have Lewis back to his normal size, Hathaway bent to kiss him.

“I feel more like meself already. That pillow!” Lewis unbuckled the belt and stepped out of the furry trousers. “I didn’t even have me Santa boots on. I was in socks the whole time.”

“I’m sure Matthew didn’t notice.”

Lewis gathered up the costume, folding it neatly. He put everything in the duffel bag, then brought out a toiletries kit and pyjamas.

“I wasn’t planning on spending the night. I didn’t bring anything.”

“You can borrow my toothbrush,” Lewis said. “I don’t suppose it matters now, does it? Us sharing.”

Hathaway sat on the bed and watched Lewis depart for the bathroom. The tree shone beside him, glittering with decorations and lights. It made him feel peaceful, as if all was right with the world. At least in his small world, it was. On this day, things that didn’t seem possible were possible. Miracles.

Lewis returned, smelling minty, wearing blue pyjamas. He sat beside Hathaway, kissed his cheek, then his mouth. “It’s like being a bloody teenager. I can hardly keep me hands off you.”

Hathaway pushed him down onto the bed, kissing him, getting a bit grabby.

Lewis looked up at him fondly, touching his cheek. “What did I get meself into?”

“What did you say to Lyn?”

“I had to tell her I wasn’t living a lie all these years, not like that. I told her about the Ramsey case. Do you remember?”

“Of course.” Hathaway settled beside Lewis, lying on his side to look at him. Initially, Ramsey had been a suspect in his partner’s death. During the questioning, he had told them about his divorce and dating several women afterwards before unexpectedly meeting Harry. He’d never fancied men in his life. _He was just right for me._

“‘You love who you love,’” Lewis said, repeating Ramsey’s words.

“You’re very brave, sir.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t know how long I thought about it first!”

“You thought about it? What exactly did you think?”

“I’m not telling you! I’ve hardly got used to the fact that I’ve kissed you.”

Hathaway rolled over, throwing an arm across Lewis’s chest and kissing his throat. Lewis rubbed his arm. They lay that way for several minutes, quiet.

Finally, Lewis said, “Go on, get ready for bed before we fall asleep like this.”

Reluctantly, Hathaway got up and made his way to the bathroom where he brushed his teeth with Lewis’s toothbrush, flossed, washed his face, peed. While he was washing his hands, he glanced up at the mirror. He looked happy.

When he returned to the living room, Lewis was lying on his back, tucked under the covers. Hathaway stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers, then climbed in on the other side of the bed. He nestled close, laying his head on the pillow beside Lewis’s. His heart thudded, content.

“It’s nice lying here with you,” Lewis said. He yawned.

“Should I unplug the lights?”

“Will they keep you from sleeping?”

“No.” As if on cue, Hathaway caught Lewis’s yawn.

“We finally got them up, and they’re so pretty. It seems a shame to shut them off.”

Sleep tugged gently at Hathaway’s mind. He’d been up for 24 hours. Every part of him felt heavy. Lewis turned to Hathaway, his face relaxed and tired. Clumsy-mouthed, they kissed again, bathed in Christmas light.

 _the end_


End file.
